Page 43 of The Pureblood Daughter
She shakes her head, her hair drifting around her shoulders. “This is all... absurd.” A thought occurs to her, and she looks up at Theodore sharply. “How old are you? The stories, they say your kind are immortal.”
“We have longer lifespans than humans, but nothing is immortal; that would defy the very laws of nature.” His gaze softens, and he smiles at her. “I’m not so much older than you. Five and thirty years.”
She’s not yet celebrated her twentieth year, yet his answer sends welcome relief through her veins. “What about your parents? Your older sister?”
Theodore crosses the room, his movements lithe, and reaches to push a dark lock of hair behind her ear. “My parents are much older than yours, and my sister, Contessa, has fifteen years on me.” His hand cups her cheek, and his thumb traces the delicate skin beneath her eye. “Vampiriage as humans do until their coming-of-age, at which point the aging process slows drastically.”
“How drastically?” Adelina whispers, staring into the viscount’s eyes as his thumb brushes her skin, sending little tingles down her nape.
“We can live to be some centuries old.”
Pulling away from his touch, Adelina clenches her hands into fists, and a heavy silence stretches between them. Her eyes search his, seeking a sign of dishonesty, something to tell her this is all a horrible ploy. But all she finds in Theodore’s emerald eyes is sincerity.
“You’re being earnest?” she whispers. “Tell me this is all a dream.”
The viscount’s lips pull down into an uneasy frown, and he gestures to the gilded mirror standing on curved legs across the room. Adelina turns hesitantly, her bare feet moving silently across the cold floor. She keeps her gaze down as she approaches the mirror, unsure of what to expect.
Mustering the courage to look into the mirror, she draws a sudden breath.
Her skin, once so pale and paper-thin, has a hint of color, and her cheeks glow with a rosy tint. The dark circles that once hung beneath her eyes are gone, and the blue of her irises is vibrant even in the darkness.
The darkness.
Adelina became so accustomed to it that she forgot there’s no light in the room, yet she can see as if it’s daytime.
“I look...” She searches for the word. Her countenance doesn’t lookhealthy, exactly, but... “Improved.”
Theodore moves to stand behind her, his reflection appearing in the mirror over her shoulder. “You were dying, Adelina.” His voice is but a whisper. “This is what atasteof blood has done to you. They were starving you,killingyou.” His gaze darkens, and that same muscle in his jaw goes taut.
He reaches out, and she reaches back to him. Their fingers intertwine, and she can no longer face this new world valiantly. Eyes filling with tears, Adelina whirls around and is pulled immediately into his warm embrace. Theodore’s strong arms wrap around her, holding her steady as tears cascade down her cheeks and everything she thought she knew comes crumbling down.
Chapter Eighteen
In the darkness, time isintangible.
Perhaps she’s been here a day, or perhaps many. The heavy draperies remain closed, and she drifts in and out of a fitful sleep. In her dreams, she pierces Theodore’s neck with her fangs and drinks his blood, their skin slick, naked bodies pressed together. But then she realizes what she’s done, what she is, and the passion dissolves into things of nightmare. She stares down the barrel of a flintlock pistol. The metal presses against her forehead, and it’s her father who pulls the trigger, whispering, “Abomination...”
“No!” Adelina screams, sitting up in bed with a start, tears running down her cheeks and a cold sweat upon her brow.
The door opens promptly, and a young maid rushes in. She has rosy cheeks and curly hair, and her eyes are the color of sun shining through caramel.
“Miss Gray? Are you well?”
Hand at her throat, Adelina nods, still too shaken to speak. The maid’s quiet footsteps sound on the hardwood floor as she crosses the room and pauses beside the nightstand. She looks vaguely familiar, but Adelina has been too caught up in her own turmoil to properly learn the names of the staff.
“You must drink, Miss Gray. The viscount insists.” The maid gestures to the flute sitting on the nightstand, the liquid inside staining the glass crimson. She brought it up some time ago, though Adelina is unsure how many hours have since passed.
Each time Adelina looks at it, she’s swept up in a war of desire and repulsion, and she’s not yet been able to bring herself to lift the glass to her lips. Even now, she turns her face away when the maid offers her the flute.
“I’m not ready,” she whispers.
“Then perhaps I can help.” The maid sets the glass on the nightstand before reaching to pull the neckline of her dress down, revealing her bare throat and clavicle. “It’s an honor to serve thepur sânge,” she whispers. “Please drink.”
“The what?” Adelina asks, fighting the instinct to draw the maid closer.
“The purebloods, miss.”
Purebloods?
